


Mercy's Hot Sauce

by MilkMeToo



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 14:14:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20508356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MilkMeToo/pseuds/MilkMeToo
Summary: Mercy's revenge for Fareeha's various mission shenanigans takes form in the hottest way she could concoct--deceptively punishing hot sauce!





	Mercy's Hot Sauce

**Author's Note:**

> One-shot Pharmercy fic! I wrote this last year and posted it originally to FFN under a different screen name. Enjoy!

Onion. Garlic. A bit of brine. Several miniature peppers of various heat levels. And last, but certainly not least, the finishing product—hot, mature, and wholly unforgiving Carolina Reapers. It’s been two years, and the doctor’s wondrous concoction is finally complete.

Fareeha frowned at the jar labeled “Mercy” in front of her, giving the notorious doctor a side-eyed glance before setting the glass back onto the counter gently. Angela, for the most part, was chattering ecstatically about the wonders of spice and its ability to naturally clear nasal passages; a claim, for the most part, that every other Overwatch agent at the base has continued to question almost religiously. 

After countless missions, bruises, scrapes, cuts, and near-death experiences, Angela’s most recent, and perhaps most deadly, mixture of her infamous sauce has neared the end of its aging process, and she was ready for some fun after spending yet another mission patching up her bull-headed girlfriend and her attempts at valor on an entirely one-sided battlefield.

“So, who’s goin’ to be the guinea pig?” chimes in Lena, winking at Fareeha before blinking away from the counter in an obvious attempt to count herself out of that equation.

“Fareeha, dear? Care to have the first bite?” Angela begins unscrewing the top of the lid, setting the top unceremoniously onto the marble as a skull and cross bones smokes its way out of the jar towards the aerial rocket queen.

“Uhm… I think I’ll pass this time…” Fareeha remarks, casually tossing a napkin at the threatening brew and its creator. She’s never been one for spicy food.

As if expecting the answer, Angela gathers a few more items from the kitchen unperturbed before carrying the assortment of crackers, cups, milk, and the sauce-of-the-hour out of the kitchen. 

“I thought you were fire-proof?” Mercy chides at her partner, smirking all the while at the obvious jab towards her girlfriend’s honor and obvious flammability. The good doctor spent the better half of an hour last mission reminding her lovely girlfriend that, yes, she was entirely flammable, and moreso with literal rockets attached to her every limb. 

She’s almost got her. She knows it. Angela smiles, a witchy twich appearing just under her left eye.

As if on cue, the soldier begins whining, punctuating her defensive cries with “I can take care of myself!” and “That’s what you’re there for, doc.” Nevertheless, she begins following the doctor skeptically. 

Fareeha has a feeling that something is off with her beloved. Her typically serious, workaholic girlfriend seems to be having entirely too much fun at her expense today—and what’s with that twich? After eyeing the doctor’s beeline towards the recreation room, she hazards a guess as to what her partner’s thinking. The soldier begins mentally preparing herself for the ensuring intestinal, and mental, conflict that is sure to occur.

“I’m surprised you’re not runnin’ for the hills with that look on your face.” Jesse quips, quickly settling in near the doctor as she arranges the assortment out on the team’s ping pong table.  
Fareeha’s internal war of questions continues unheard as a mischievous glint settles across Angela’s bemused face.

“How about we make this interesting, hmm?” Angela begins rolling the sleeves of her white t-shirt to her elbows, motioning for Fareeha to join her at the table, while nudging McCree and Lena towards the other end.

Hana, Genji, and Winston all make their way into the room as the four agents settle around the ping pong table, Angela busying herself with setting up a pyramid of red solo cups on either side.

She begins relaying the rules: instead of alcohol, the cups are filled with milk. Every time an agent misses a cup, they must eat a cracker with a scoop of the unmerciful ‘Mercy’ on it, with the only reprieve being the milk from the cups. Once all of the cups are gone, her faithful Caduceus staff will be waiting to help ease the pain of the winners, while the losers must suffer in agony.

What most of the other agents, including her girlfriend, might not know is that Angela has a wicked pong game. For the past month, while the other agents thought she was holed away in her lab working at night, she was secretly practicing with Mei, the base’s resident pong master. 

Winston, Hana and Genji begin wondering just what happened to the usually thoughtful and notoriously busy doctor, citing that Fareeha must have done something to set her off recently. Hana begins ooooohing childishly while Winston and Genji save some face by laughing at the other woman’s obvious inner turmoil behind closed palms.

Satya ambles in as Angela is explaining the simple rules to the agents, mumbling something about how utterly unsanitary the game is! She balks, noting that there isn’t even a wash cup around. “How positively medieval, you four. Angela, what’s gotten into you?”

“What? Can’t I have a little fun too?” There’s a glint to the doctor’s eye as she sizes up her opponents, Lena doing a quirky little jig at the other end while McCree does his best to smooth talk his way to starting the first throw. Lena remains unconvinced.

“All work and no play has really gone to your head now, hasn’t it doc?” Lena snatches the first ping pong before McCree has a chance while Fareeha smoothly palms the other, confident and ready to throw.

“You have no idea…” Fareeha smirks, an obvious innuendo at play. She winces as an elbow finds its way into her ribs just as she throws, the ball flying brusquely out of her hand and landing mockingly into the rim of McCree’s hat.

Lena, on the other hand, manages to sink a trick shot in a back corner. 

All of the pain, explosions, and mangled limbs from battle can barely compare to the torture that awaits her as Angela scoops a heaping spoonful of the red goo onto a pale cracker, a devilish glint in her eye. She proffers the cracker to the Egyptian, grinning, while Winston and Genji begin snickering. Lena, ever the comic, begins laughing hysterically as McCree holds his hat to his heart, saying a genteel prayer for their resident aerial ace.

“Never took you for a sadist, dear.” Fareeha’s attempt at levity does nothing for her situation.

“Never took you for a coward, dear.” Angela retorts, gleefully eyeing how her partner hesitates before shoving the whole cracker into her mouth.

She swallows quickly, but the pain is unforgiving and immediate. The initial taste was actually fairly delicious, with a tangy mixture of the onion and garlic hitting her first. There’s an explosion of stars behind her eyes as the heat begins rising and expanding through her throat and stomach. With every passing second, the heat turns cruel, and the young solider begins gulping dramatically at the air, trying to get any reprieve from the delirious heat that has begun permeating her very soul. Tears are beginning to drop as the Egyptian’s forehead begins beading with a gentle sheen of sweat.

Angela, for the most part, thinks the whole episode is hilarious. This is what Fareeha deserves after purposefully sending both of them down a very wet Ilios well, claiming that her obviously full jet pack had run out of fuel mid-flight. She lost a wing after that distasteful prank! Not to mention that Fareeha’s entire reasoning for the trick was just to say “Always wanted to see you wet, Angie.” 

It was years ago, during their vividly flirtatious days, but also during a point in time when neither of them wanted to make the first move and ruin a fantastic friendship. A series of tacky pranks had ensued on behalf of the Egyptian, finally culminating in the incident at the well.

Angela had ruminated for months on a veritably similar level of evil genius to get back at her adorable partner. Thus, the spiciest and scariest hot sauce to ever grace Watchpoint: Gibraltar was born and brewed.

As her beloved continues to suffer quite dramatically to her left, Lena and Angela size up before each landing shots in the middle cup. 

McCree whistles while Lena takes another cup of the milk, Angela holding her cup up into a stalwart ‘Cheers!’ towards the small Englishwoman before downing the drink in one gulp. 

Fareeha has now begun to calm a little, growing used to the burning heat. The famous Ana Amari raised no coward. She holds a palm out politely, requesting the ball from her girlfriend on the off chance that she might actually give it to her. Angela, meanwhile, smiles cheerily as she sinks another cup in the back corner, all while maintaining eye contact with the flabbergasted soldier.

Lena, on the other hand, was not so lucky a third time around. 

Before she can zip away, McCree smushes his hat around the younger woman’s head while Angela prepares a cracker, placing a noticeably smaller portion on the treat as she slides it across the table.

Unlike Fareeha, Lena swallows the cracker with gusto, relishing in the delicious taste before the heat kicks in. She still tears up, barely, but gives a jolly thumbs up after only seconds. She retaliates by throwing the cowboy’s hat onto a passing Hanzo, who hums in thanks before sauntering toward the rest of the Overwatch peanut gallery. 

Fareeha choses to ignore the spice, from both her girlfriend and the sauce, and eyes McCree approvingly. He isn’t known as a dead-eye for nothing, and she has no doubts now that the ball will likely stay in his court, barring foul play. 

Angela, meanwhile chooses to hand the ball over to Fareeha, citing an obscure and half-legal ‘Mercy’ rule that would give the soldier a chance to redeem herself.

They square off, McCree giving the air around his head an imaginative whirl as Hanzo tips the hat towards the two in unison with the gunslinger. 

For all of her usual charm, grace, and decent aim, Fareeha’s ball twirls spitefully in a lone cup before plunking out vindictively. Angela internally rallies at her girlfriend’s horrible luck as the soldier begins moping, claiming that the universe must be out to get her. 

She is handed another generous serving of ‘Mercy’ as McCree downs two drinks, his ball skipping between two side cups before landing with a splash.

The game continues on entirely one-sided, with Angela occasionally handing Fareeha the ball for redemption, only for her terrible unlucky streak to continue, even without nudging from the doctor.

After the fifth cracker, the rest of the agents show the teams some sympathy. The only loser in this match seemed to be Fareeha, much to the soldier’s chagrin, with Lena only having to sample one cracker, and with Angela and McCree sporting identical milk mustaches.

“You know, mein liebste, you have to make at least one cup or else I’ll have to enforce the ‘Troll’ rule.” Angela looks jokingly grim as she relays yet another ambiguous rule to Fareeha, who is busy mashing a snowball into her face that Mei generously offered to combat the pepper’s unwavering heat. The other agents quiet as the doctor hands her one last ball, her fate falling into the hands of ill-luck and haughty determination. 

Wet clumps of snow melt from her face as she eyes the last cup across the table. All of the agents fall silent. For all of her vengeful lust, not even Angela dare mess with an Amari and her mission, and she watches the face of absolute resolution as her girlfriend palms the ball between her hands.

Fareeha squares up. She aligns her shoulder and wrist with the mocking red cup and breathes deeply. As she lets her breath go, she releases the ball. 

A wet ‘kerplunck!’ is heard resounding throughout the recreation room as McCree, Lena and the rest of the watching agents begin cheering—even Angela is elated for her relived girlfriend. She cups the soldier’s wet, teary, and snotty face in both hands gives her a gentle peck on the lips, laughing as Fareeha almost falls to the floor in pepper-induced pain. 

The peppers are almost growing in her stomach, she is convinced; a whole new field of Ghost Reaping revenge matures and buds slowly, mocking her very existence with their unsightly appearance on her lower intestine. Behind Angela’s head, Hanzo is seen handing a rather large wad of cash to Genji, who is cackling at his newfound fortune.

“Guess we’ll never see that troll in effect, no?” Angela smiles gleefully as she fingers her Caduceus staff, a warm bath of yellow enveloping the haggard Egyptian. 

After moments, the pain subsides to a gentle burn—nothing that an antacid couldn’t fix. Fareeha smiles knowingly at Angela as she picks up the doctor and spins her around. 

Angela should have known that something was amiss when their happy celebration turned into palpable kidnapping after she was thrown across the soldier’s shoulder. Fareeha chuckles as Angela begins to squirm, and she begins running quickly towards the Gibraltar’s beachy waves. The rest of the agents know better than to interfere with them, so they idle by scenically, laughing once they see where the pair is headed. 

She dumps the doctor rather callously into the oncoming swell of the tide and begins ruffling the blonde’s hair with sand. 

Angela just smiles knowingly as she grabs a bronze ankle and trips the solider down into the water with her.  
___________________________________________________________________

It’s another three years before the game of Pepper Pong rears its head back to the agents. 

And this time, the rest of the agents finally got to see exactly what the proud Amari looked like, acting as a troll underneath the pong table while wallowing in self-regret, her lover’s precious Caduceus staff “in repair” after the doctor seemed to have mysteriously broken it after yet another dastardly airborne event.


End file.
